


dance around the sun

by hotdammneron



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 2 english majors walk into a bar, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drinking, Writing, i have no clue what else to tag this with lol, thanks nursey for that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8109019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdammneron/pseuds/hotdammneron
Summary: Whiskey had tried to take Nursey’s semi-drunken roof ramblings to heart in the best way he could interpret them in the following months. Inspiration comes in strange places.(Whiskey writes a lot)





	

**Author's Note:**

> damn... me contributing to the 6 tango/whiskey fics lol!  
> un-beta'd because its late n im tired sorry if this sux lmao

“Yo! Whisk! You’re like, an English major probably, right?” Nursey called from where he leaned with his head sticking out of the window that lead to the roof. Whiskey liked to go out there to relax and think about things, and most everyone in the Haus knew that, but Nurse was clearly not entirely sober.

“Uh, yeah, probably, why?” Whiskey replied, flipping his notebook closed and turning to face Nursey, and Nursey climbed the rest of the way through the window. He settled down on the small balcony next to Whiskey, squinting out at the horizon.

“Listen, lil’ dude. You’ve gotta like, find your inspiration. Like, find something that really jives with you, bro. Write some shit about that. Don’t like, listen to those jackasses out there who say it can’t be a person, either,” Nursey rambled without prelude. “Get inspired by some shit, and even if that’s a pretty person you see at the coffee shop, whatever floats your goat, dude.”

“Um. Okay? Thanks?” Whiskey said, very confused. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

“I’m gonna call Dex,” Nursey said by way of explanation, nodding to himself, seeming to have dropped the topic.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Derek,” Whiskey replied, trying his best to grab Nurse’s phone from the roof next to him, because Dex was back in Maine and would probably kill a man for interrupting his fishing or whatever it really is he does back there. 

“Y’know why all my poems are about like, constellations and fire and shit, Whisks?” Nursey asked, leaning back against the side of the Haus. 

“No?” Whiskey replied, and it came out more like a question than anything else, because he hadn’t even read any of Nursey’s writing.

“Nice. I’m gonna call Dex.”  
_/\\_  
Whiskey had tried to take Nursey’s semi-drunken roof ramblings to heart in the best way he could interpret them in the following months. He had come to the conclusion that he had at least sort of meant that Dex was his inspiration, however that works, which didn’t really understand being as they always seemed to be fighting. 

Inspiration came in strange places.   
_/\\_  
Sitting on his twin bed, it was closing in on midnight, and Tony was talking. He had been talking for nearly an hour now, just bouncing off his own ideas with Whiskey’s listening and occasional commentary. Whiskey swore he had been listening to the extent of his ability, but it was hard sometimes. It was hard to focus on somebody else’s words when his mind was racing this much. He was thinking, about a boy unlike himself, with bright eyes and a bright smile who was just bright. Maybe he was thinking too much. He pulled his notebook into his lap, clicking the top of his pen a few times, tapping it against the paper. He wrote a few words, the first ones that came into his mind, and Tony stopped talking for a moment.   
You shine so bright.  
_/\\_  
He had gotten a text, earlier that night, that just said Meet me at the park, 11:30?, and he said yes. He pulled on a sweater, made sure his phone was charged, and had left his dorm with a few minutes to spare. He stopped by a cafe, thankful that it was open so late, and ordered two hot chocolates (one with soy milk). He got to the park at 11:30 precisely, seeing Tony by the front gate, and jogged to catch up to him. Tony smiled, and Whiskey liked his smile.

“We’ve gotta go up that hill.” Tony said, pointing to a moderately sized hill towards the edge of the park, grassy with a tree at the top. Whiskey nodded, handing Tony the hot chocolate (with soy), and they walked up the hill.

Inspiration came in strange situations. Sitting at the top of a hill, back pressed against an old oak tree, just him and a friend watching the stars overhead. He would point out constellations in the sky, and Tony would ask about them, and he would share as much as he knew about them. He pulled his notebook out of his bag, grateful for the faint starlight illuminating the pages.  
Brighter than all the stars above us.  
_/\\_  
“What’ve you been writing?” Tony asked one night, both of them sitting on the floor of his room with his christmas lights on. Whiskey had his notebook open on his knee, chewing idly at the cap of his pen. He’d changed the topic earlier that week when he realized it just didn’t fit.

“A story,” He replied, stretching out his left leg into Tony’s space. “About the moon.” 

“Can I read it?”

“When it’s done, yeah.”  
_/\\_  
Whiskey writes more when he’s home over winter break. It’s cold and stormy, already with a foot of snow on the ground outside, and he wraps himself up in a blanket on the couch. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he’s wearing two sweaters along with the blanket to keep out the chill. He can hear soft music from the kitchen, where his mom shuffles around, mixing ingredients for dinner. He bites on one of his fingernails, rereading what he had drafted so far. A story about the moon.   
More specifically, a story about a boy who was fascinated by the moon. A boy who watched from a distance, stared longingly at the changing face, dappled with craters and shadows. He loved the moon, though it was far away, unreachable. He watched it every night, staring from his bedroom window, blinking up at the surface, watching until he fell asleep. At night, he dreamt of the moon, of finally reaching the surface and being close enough to touch, then being yanked away into the real world.  
This boy loved the moon, yet could only dance around it. Every night he got close enough then was pulled back, starting the cycle again. He loved the moon, and the moon did not love him back. He looked for home amongst the stars, seeking solace from the rejection of the moon, and lost himself there for a time. When the stars had set him loose, he tried to settle. He stumbled back into the mundane world of the Earth, and found it to be not as boring as he had remembered, because of another boy.  
In the world, there was a boy, and he had loved the moon and stars, and there was another boy who outshined all of those stars. The boy with his head in the clouds could not find the love he wanted from any sort of celestial body, but maybe, just maybe, he could find it here.

It was entirely fictional.   
_/\\_  
He comes back to Samwell, and Tony gets back a day later. They meet on the balcony on their shared floor of their shared dorm, after a trip to the vending machines. They’re both dressed for the weather, which is too cold and too wet, and they sit on the balcony. Whiskey sits with his legs dangling off the edge, hat pulled over his ears and breath coming out in puffs. They don’t talk for a moment.  
“I brought something,” Whiskey says, ducking his head a bit. “I’d like to read it to you, if that’s okay.” 

“Of course, I’m listening,” Tony replies, and crosses his legs underneath him. 

“Once, there was a boy who was in love with the moon,” Whiskey continues, his heart beating a bit faster and he’s not sure why. 

He reads the rest of the story, swinging his legs a bit off the edge. 

Tony doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask any questions. 

Three minutes pass.

“May I kiss you?” Tony asks, finally breaking the silence, a light flush rising to his cheeks, more than there was from just the chilled winter air.

“Yeah.”

Tony leans across the space between them, and his eyes flicker from his eyes to his mouth, then back to his eyes again. He smiles a small smile, seeming nervous, and goes just a bit closer. It’s a soft kiss, a chaste brush of lips, and it doesn’t feel like a question.

It feels like finally kissing a boy brighter than all the stars in the sky.


End file.
